CHAPTER 1

The class full of high school kids yawned in boredom as the lights dimmed. A digital film projected onto a big screen in the front of their classroom.

“The Surface,” began the film’s narrator. “A desolate wasteland populated by warlike tribes of primitive scavengers. It’s survival of the fittest for its unlucky inhabitants.” The image of a gleaming metropolis appeared on the screen. “And there we are, Metro City!” The entire city hovered over the Surface of the planet, held up by some unseen force.

Someone in the class groaned. Not another cheesy film about Metro City!

“The jewel in the crown!” boasted the narrator. “Beautiful, isn’t it? And all thanks to our friends the robots.”

A silver robot wheeled into the scene and began cooking a meal for a family, even reminding the father to call his mom on her birthday.

“That’s right! Whether it’s serving our meals, raising our children, or building our buildings, no job is too big or too small,” the narrator went on. “Including a lot of the things that, frankly, we just don’t want to do anymore.”

A car whizzed by and dropped a cup on the street. A robot appeared and happily swept up the can. Then ... Wham! A truck whizzed by, running right over the robot. A family appeared looking worried.

“Don’t worry! The street will still get cleaned,” the narrator promised, as the broken robot was swept into a garbage truck.

The scene cut to a robot factory. Robot workers were making new robots out of parts that sped by on an assembly line.

“You see, robots are not only expendable, they’re incredibly cheap to make,” the narrator explained. “One robot is created. Then that guy makes himself a new buddy.” Now the screen showed a long line of brand-new robots. They marched out of the factory, ready to begin their new jobs.

“Pretty soon all those robots making robots adds up to a whole bunch of robots, eager and willing to serve you and me,” the narrator went on. “Thousands are created every day.”

“And it’s all thanks to this man, Dr. Tenma of the Ministry of Science, also known as the Father of Modern Robotics.”

Now the screen showed a tall scientist with a long face, an unruly head of dark hair, and a tuft on his chin to match. He wore a rumpled, white lab coat.

There was a low murmur in the classroom.

“Hey, Toby, isn’t that your dad?” a boy asked.

He spoke to the boy sitting next to him. Toby Tenma’s black hair was sculpted into shark fin-like points on the top and sides of his head. He was dressed neatly in a blue and red collared shirt and black pants. Toby rolled his wide, brown eyes.

“It sure is,” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. But inside, he was really proud of his father.

Back on the screen, the camera was focused on some children and a robot at a lemonade stand.

“Our friends the robots serve us,” the narrator continued. “Thousands are created every day, and thousands are disposed of in the great unending cycle that sustains life in our city.”

A garbage truck pulled up filled with old and broken robots. Then the screen showed hundreds of robots being pushed off the side of Metro City. They landed on a great heap of junked robots on the Surface below.

“Thanks for everything, guys,” the narrator finished. He chuckled. “May you rust in peace!”

Nobody in the classroom laughed at the joke. The lights in the classroom went on. The teacher, Mr. Moustachio, pressed a button on a remote. The screen went blank. He turned to the room full of kids.

“Okay, students. Pop quiz!” he said cheerfully.

All of the students groaned except for Toby. He actually looked pleased.

Mr. Moustachio passed out the papers. “You have three hours to complete the quiz. Begin.”

“I’m so busted!” moaned a girl next to Toby. The rest of the students muttered complaints as they turned over their papers.

Toby didn’t hesitate. He entered the answers into his desktop computer at lightning speed. Then he raised his hand.

Mr. Moustachio peered over the book he was reading. “Yes, Toby? Is there a problem?”

“There’s no problem,” Toby replied. “I’m just finished and I’d like to leave.”

The other students gasped.

“Finished?” Mr. Moustachio asked. He looked astonished.

Toby shrugged. “For rocket science, it wasn’t exactly rocket science.”

“Well, I don’t suppose there’s much point in you staying—” Mr. Moustachio began, but Toby was already at the door.

He grinned. “Good luck, guys.”

He closed the door behind him as the other kids whispered to each